


Wire Tapped

by greeneggs101



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cell Phones, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneggs101/pseuds/greeneggs101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the fall, John is left with Sherlock's phone. Too bad it's locked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wire Tapped

**Author's Note:**

> Written really quickly as the idea came up fast and began to write itself. Quickly edited but let me know if any glaring errors. Hope you enjoy

It was Greg who handed the phone over, on a dark dreary day in a bedsit far, far away from 221B. Greg had finally tracked him down thru Mycroft, as John himself hadn’t contacted anybody in months. Lestrade looked at the phone before holding it out to John. “The glass has been cracked, but it looks like the phone is ok internally. We can’t override the passcode though. We were hoping—“

John held up his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me. Sh—He always cracked my passcodes, never the other way around.” John stared at the phone, but didn’t take it. Eventually, Greg set it down on the end table. 

“Either way, its no longer evidence and Mycroft bestowed it to you. It appears Sherlock told him that he wanted you to have it.”

John grunted in acknowledgment but didn’t say anything else. Greg leaned over and patted his shoulder in support. John flinched at the contact and Lestrade backed off. 

“Look, if you ever want to go for a pint or something just let me know.”

John nodded but didn’t say anything else. He continued to stare down at his bare feet. 

Suddenly the phone beeped twice, the signal for a low battery. The officers must have recharged it a bit after taking it out of evidence lock up for one last shot at unlocking it. 

John glanced over and saw the lock screen light up. 

I Am _ _ _ _ Locked.

John huffed out a laugh. It was the exact same lock screen as Irene Adler's. Figures. John always thought Sherlock had a crush on the Woman. 

John sighed and picked up the phone. The screen had indeed been damaged from where Sherlock had dropped it, the cracks on the glass spider webbing out from a corner. 

John glanced idly at the keyboard. He remembered Sherlock once telling him how he figured out the code to the woman’s phone. A clever way to include Sherlock’s name right into the lock screen. 

John sighed thoughtfully. While Sherlock certainly never loved another person to include their name into a lock screen, he certainly loved himself enough. John slowly typed the letters out. S…H…E…R… He pressed enter.

Wrong! 3 attempts remaining. 

John growled and raised the phone up to throw it. At the last minute he stopped, breaking down into tears and holding the phone to his chest. Huge sobs wracked his body, but he couldn’t stop the tears. It felt as if yet another thing was denying him to be close to Sherlock. 

After a few minutes John managed to get out of the chair he was sitting in and placed the phone neatly on the desk. He would charge it later. Right now he had to see Mrs. Hudson about the rent.

A few months later found John walking home from the clinic late at night. He yawned and rubbed his hands across his eyes, trying to keep awake in the late hour. 

Suddenly, he heard a few strains of soft music coming from the corner of Baker Street. As he neared the corner he saw a man in a short coat and a raggedy dark brown scarf playing a violin. Under the streetlight he looked serene, with a shock of red hair and a short beard. His violin case laid open at his feet, begging for tips. 

John felt his heart sink at the sounds, resembling when the flat was filled with the sweet sounds of a violin. At least when Sherlock wasn’t torturing the poor thing. 

John leaned down and placed a few pounds in the open violin case. The man didn’t stop playing, but his light blue eyes glanced at John in thanks. 

John didn’t notice the man staring and was still lost in his own thoughts. Sherlock had loved that violin, nearly as much as he loved his cases.

John froze, his heartbeat picking up a bit. Maybe…

He raced towards home, his heartbeat racing in excitement. His hands stayed still while he opened the lock and ran upstairs. 

When he opened the door he darted over to where the violin still lay, untouched after so many months. He bypassed the violin. Violin had to many letters but maybe the music Sherlock had been composing. John wasn’t sure if Sherlock had ever named the piece but he looked anyway. 

John leafed thru the few sheets of music Sherlock actually had and finally found a recent hand written piece. The piece hadn’t been titled properly but at the top John noticed that Sherlock had penciled in a few numbers.

John raced to where the phone lay on the mantle still hooked up to the charger. He began to type the numbers in furiously. 

0…1…2…9

Wrong! 2 attempts remaining.

John huffed in disappointment and placed the phone down. It was worth a try. 

Meanwhile he straightened up the papers again and placed them back where he found them. He placed the violin in Sherlock’s old chair gently. He then turned to make himself a cup of tea, his tiredness returning in the aftermath of the excitement. 

John sighed and headed upstairs to change while the water boiled.

He didn’t see the phone light up with an alert for an incoming text message.

A month after that found John sitting across from Mycroft discussing Sherlock’s personal affects. 

“You’re not taking any of it out of here.” John argued when Mycroft first brought it up. Despite his initial reaction to stay far away from anything that reminded him of Sherlock, now he desperately wanted to stay near it. 

Mycroft shook his head. “I don’t think he would have wanted it to be anywhere else.” He handed over a few pieces of paper. “I merely came to give you this.”

He passed over a sheet a paper that looked like bank account information. John read thru it quickly and looked up. “I can’t…that belongs with—“

“With his family?” Mycroft huffed. “Sherlock told me long ago that he did not consider me or his mother family, and instead told me that if anything should happen to him, his personal affects and monetary worth were to be left in the care of you and Mrs. Emma Hudson. Mrs. Hudson was already given her share.”

John smiled as he glances down at the paper. “He always liked to take care of her.”

Mycroft nodded. “I think Sherlock cared more for Mrs. Hudson than his own mother.” The older man just shook his head. “Don’t tell mummy. She’d be so upset.”

John just nodded absently as Mycroft saw himself out. He thought more about what Mycroft had said. Picking up Sherlock’s phone he glanced at the lock screen, typing out M…R…S…H.

Wrong! You have 1 attempt remaining. 

John sighed and placed the phone back. He then headed down to see how Mrs. Hudson was doing. News of Sherlock always unsettled her and a bit of tea always calmed her down.

He left the telly on behind him, which was running a story of the apparent suicide of Sebastian Moran.   
A week later, John bumped into Molly at Saint Bart’s. He shouldn’t have been as surprised to see her as he was.

He had finally accepted some locum work at the hospital. It had taken a few months but as long as he didn’t enter the hospital from the same side Sherlock had fallen, his heart didn’t race as much and he could pretend he was in another hospital. 

But running into Molly suddenly made things real. 

Molly seemed just as shocked to see him. She recovered faster though and smiled. “Hello, John. Fancy seeing you here.”

John shook his head and nodded. “Yeah. Just filling in for some doctors on leave. How—How are you doing?”

“Oh. Alright. You know…people don’t stop dying so I’m not out of work…so…” She trailed off, her attempt at humor falling flat. John gave a halfhearted grin and held out his hand.

“Would you like to go get coffee and catch up? I’m on break…”

Molly hesitated for a moment before smiling. “Sure.”

They went to a small café outside of Bart’s and chatted.

“So how are you really doing?” John questioned. “I figured you might upset after. I know you had a crush on—“

“Oh…I did…but… I tried to get over it. Especially in then end? I began to notice how he looked at you. I didn’t think I could compete with that.”

John glanced up. “What?”

Molly looked at him. “You never noticed? He always looked sad, until you looked at him. He didn’t want someone he loved to notice he was sad.”

John blushed. “Love? Sherlock? No…that’s too sentimental…even for him.”

Molly blushed and looked into her coffee. “Yet…who was the last person he talked to? Not me, or Mycroft, or even that Moriarty fellow. He called you.”

John nodded. Then stopped. “Wait how did you--?”

“Whoops! Must dash! I think I left my time card in the Mortuary!” Molly sputtered as she quickly left the café, leaving John confused. 

He never told anyone about the phone call…so how did Molly know?

The questioned bothered him the rest of the day. He went home and sat in his chair, staring at Sherlock’s violin for a half hour before deciding that it wasn’t giving up any secrets. He then went to put on the kettle, passing by Sherlock’s phone as he did so. 

It lit up as he passed with an alert for a new text message. The lock screen glowed at him and he was momentarily confused at who would have Sherlock’s phone number and who would still be texting. Sherlock’s phone number had been taken off his website ages ago. 

Shakily, John picked up the phone; the lock screen still displayed the same three words. I Am _ _ _ _ Locked. 

Remembering Molly’s words from earlier John decided that he had nothing left to lose. He typed in the letters harshly. 

J…O…H…N

The screen now displayed a set of four words. I Am JOHN Locked.

John closed his eyes and pressed enter. 

When he opened them again he saw the menu screen. In the corner he saw that Sherlock had 2 new text messages. He opened them, expecting to see hate texts from disgruntled fans.

Instead he saw two texts addressed to him. Both from a blocked number.

The first one sent John’s heart racing.

I Miss You, John. SH

But the second one sent the phone skittering to the floor as John dropped it to turn around. On the floor the phone lay face up, the screen proudly displaying three words. 

Turn Around, John. 

The man now in front of John was tall, with ginger hair that was much, much darker at the roots. The scraggly beard that once adorned his face had been shaved off and piercing blue eyes stared at him calmly. 

The man’s stature, however, betrayed his nervousness as he stood awkwardly, his arms hanging limply at his sides and back uncharacteristically hunched. John saw familiar sharp features more haggard than before and the clothes the man wore were not what John as used to, but he could still see the man for who he is. 

Sherlock finally decided on a move, holding out his arms awkwardly, unused to the gesture. The move sent John hurdling towards the taller man, wrapping his arms around a too thin chest and holding tight. Long arms wrapped around his back and clung to his jumper. 

Any question John had died on his lips and he just hung onto Sherlock for now. Answers could wait till morning. For now he just wanted Sherlock in the flesh, the phone long forgotten from where it had landed.


End file.
